The Glorfindel Problem
by Melkor's Drinking Buddy
Summary: The physical manifestation of the Buddhist tenet for reincarnation is a little....light-headed. Short of tethering him, (Glorfi's teeth have already been corked,) what can Elrond do?
1. Insanity is a Liberal Term

_Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All recognizable people, places, or things belong to Tolkien. I assure you, I don't benefit from this.

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**The Glorfindel Problem**

Elrond sighed as he brushed his long, dark, herbal-essences conditioned tresses as he contemplated the complexities of life- the usual complexities; nothing major. Just furry-footed gnomes bearing the fate of Middle-Earth, dark lords that would completely destroy your race if given the chance, lovely daughters that wanted to marry mortals encrusted with a greasy film, and disturbing memories of Glorfindel popping up from under the dining table to greet your mother-in-law wearing nothing but a fig leaf.

            Elrond sighed again as he motioned for his mauve, leather, leopard-patterned, fur-lined thongs and a glass of miruvor from his servant. The Glorfindel problem had indeed increased to a highly alarming level of chaos. Statistics proved that of the entire elven population in Imladris, 50% were slowly descending into madness, 13% had fallen to involuntary spasms at some point in life, and 9% were still missing, presumably dead or still locked in broom-cupboards. Broom cupboards were the only sanctuaries free of golden-haired balrog slayers that were the physical manifestation of the Buddhist tenet of reincarnation. Glorfindel claimed he would have no association with such storage rooms full of phallic symbols. At least the populace was given some relief.

            Slipping the thongs over his feet, the elven lord recalled irritably the time when two months ago it was thought that the lord of Imladris masqueraded about the elven kingdom in skimpy dainties. Clucking disgustedly at the perverted, impure thoughts certain races harbored, Elrond picked up his fluted glass of wine and pushed the doors of his room open to the wonder that was the Last Homely House.

            Sunlight streaming through gossamer curtains bathed his upturned face, along with a breeze that carried the sweet smell of spring flowers. He paused to admire the marble halls and columns of Imladris, with their lovely capitals cast into shapes of plants and animals. He turned his pointed ears to the sound of maidens' musical voices singing in harmony, and the soft bubbling of the fountain resting in the center of the tiled floor. As he looked and listened, his heart sang and wept at the same time. Hardening his will, he turned on his heel and marched with a determined pace towards Glorfindel's quarters. 

            As he neared Glorfindel's residence, Elrond became progressively more worried. Elves walked around haltingly, their usually impeccable flowing robes dirty and disheveled. They cast each furtive glances, fear dancing in their eyes. It became more apparent with each step closer to Glorfindel. Elrond quickened his pace, sincerely hoping this wasn't the result of another escapade Glorfindel had christened, "the wiener flap dance." Rounding a corner, Elrond stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before his eyes.

            It was Glorfindel, all right. The elf of Gondolin stood nearly naked in the soft glow of torches, his chest lathered with oils and intricate marking made from mud. What Elrond assumed could only be a miniature sacrificial alter, made out of a matchbox and a handkerchief with a childish scrawl made with felt-tipped marker on it, had a small baby bunny strapped to it. Glorfindel must have met Gollum at some point in his life, because he wore the same size 0 loincloth about his hips. A single shark's tooth hung from a leather thing about his neck. The elf careened within a small circle of candles in the hall, beating his feet wildly to a tune no one could hear. The elf looked through the nebulous purple smoke the torches were emitting to look Elrond straight in the eye. He grinned, showing two canines with corks stuck on them. Throwing back his head in a slow and dramatic movement, he crowed like a rooster and intoned, "I am the Balrog!" Lifting his hands in the air, revealing a set of wings constructed of fig leaves, he squatted before a candle, and to Elrond's eternal shame, let rip an elvish mist. 

By the time the curtains caught on fire, it was pandemonium. 

Elves shrieked in high, unearthly voices as the flames caught beautiful tapestries lining the wall. Safely tucking the baby bunny into the sleeve of his robe, Elrond leaped over a column of fire towards the still cackling Glorfindel. He had no choice- Glorfi had gone too far. He would fight him- Matrix style. Sailing through the air towards Glorfindel's head, he saw his hair tangling before his very eyes. _Glorfindel would pay_. Laughing maniacally as columns of flame continued to rage about them, the balrog slayer leaped to meet the elven lord, corks bared.

Crashing in the air, they somersaulted off each other to land where they began, circling warily. Glorfindel grinned again. Spinning through the air, he grabbed a torch and swiped it at Elrond's head, singing his entire hairline. 

_Damnit, _he thought, _and right before I have to do filming for that movie. _But as he ducked, he couldn't avoid the next sweep of the torch, and it grazed his sleeve. _The matches! _ But it was too late. As his sleeve gave a tiny explosion and spattered his face with singed cloth and bunny gore, all he could do was take it.


	2. Orc Excretions and Disturbing Revelation...

            **Chapter 2**

From his crouch, Elrond aimed a kick at Glorfindel's groin while an expert flick of his wrist sent bunny gore streaming at the balrog slayer's eyes.

Glorfindel curled into a fetal position as Elrond's boot connected. Grasping his groin, he lurched forward face-first onto the floor. Thinking the battle won, Elrond stepped forward to help his fallen friend.

"Glorfi, take my hand," Elrond soothed. "Come into the light…" At least _some _things Arwen said were worthwhile enough to remember.

As if in a dream, Elrond watched in slow motion as Glorfindel began to raise his face. His warrior braids cast his face in shadow, and all he could see was the fire dancing in the warrior's eyes. His lips ponderously rose over his teeth in a parody of a grin, the light from the torches glinting of his too-white canines, the corks lost in streams of darkening gore. The demonic expression stayed as Glorfi suddenly whipped his head and crushed Elrond's nose.

Tangled hair, and now a nose job! There would be no mercy. Contorting his face and issuing a feral snarl, Elrond rolled to the demon child's feet and executed his deadliest attack- he whipped his hair violently at Glorfindel's face. The torque nearly broke Elrond's neck, so committed was he to the blow.

Fully five pounds of Herbal Essences shampooed, conditioned, revitalized, moisturized, enriched, styled, gelled, bodied, moussed, pomaded, straightened, treated, shined, (and modestly revolutionized, as Elrond was wont to say,) hair whacked Glorfindel full across the face. He staggered back from the strike, and let out a piercing scream as the oils in the alchemists' playground slowly started to eat into his skin. It was so cleansing, the chemicals in Elrond's hair had turned into acid. The strange, fiery light in Glorfindel's eyes dimmed as he fell into convulsions and eventually slipped into unconsciousness.

         Glorfindel teetered on the edge of oblivion as vague voices drifted over and around him in a strange clamor of whispers in his vicinity, and he also heard something much darker and difficult to perceive, as if over a great distance.

         _He has failed. You have failed._

         N-No, my lord, there will be more- 

"Here, give me that cloth."

         _-I feel benevolent today, Wo-_

"Quickly, we must soil his face to slow the acid!"

         _-pray, now crawl out of my sight as soon as you are able, and do not fail me again! One chance, do not waste it! Already they sense the presence of external urging-_

"Last resort! Find the orc-droppings!"

         _Lord Elrond will die! _

Glorfindel's eyes popped open to see a fistful of feces poised precariously over his face. The lord of Imladris smiled wanly.

         "Praise the Valar! I didn't want to do that. Thank Illuvator you awoke in time," and with that, Elrond handed the greenish-brown mound into the _un-gloved _hands of a grimacing attendant. "I thought the cleansing oils of my hair continued to persist in eating you alive. The dirt would have directed it away from your skin."

         Glorfindel just groaned out in reply. Feeling eloquent, he grunted as well. He blinked blearily, for a strange glare piercing through an oddly perfumed haze hurt his eyes. Then Elrond turned away, and his vision cleared. Glorfindel realized Elrond's hair was just shining through a freshly applied cloud of hairspray.

         Glorfindel struggled with his consciousness. What was it he had heard? He realized now that the more distinct and less violent, (though still aggressively disgusting) conversation had been Elrond talking to his attendants… Elrond! There was a plot to kill Elrond! And someone had failed…

         Well, obviously, if someone had failed, then the threat was absolved.

         Glorfindel smiled contentedly at his ever-unfailing logic. He leaned back into his pillows and truly felt relaxed for the first time in months. Everything was fine and dandy in the world. He was even getting new corks tomorrow! No more food getting stuck in those blasted corks' holes, by golly.

Glorfi turned over in his bed, never noticing that Elrond still stood in the room. Grinning wickedly as he counted severed orc limbs to get to sleep, Glorfindel's breathing eventually evened, and his thumb found its way to his mouth.

Elrond watched the balrog slayer sleep, the moonlight shining through the open windows to bathe Glorfindel's locks and white coverlet in a soft silver glow. Elrond tensed as he realized he had seen the expression on Glorfindel's face earlier today mirrored in the faces of other elven lads before. What was it? He remembered Arwen "accidentally" walking through the boy's bunk in Rivendell's training camps. It had been nighttime, and Arwen said she had been wearing Elrond's thongs and a halter-top because of the heat… 

Elrond gasped and stood rigid as he finally understood. He turned slowly to regard his friend, sleeping innocently, unaware of the danger he was in.

"Fight it, my friend, fight it." Elrond whispered to the still figure. "She does not own you!"


End file.
